Almost Known
by Nea's world
Summary: Another version of how they met, and my attempt to reconcile the Legolas of the books and the one of the movie, along with the one that developed a life of his own in my own works of fanfiction.


It was with great relief that he heard the soft sounds of singing as they trudged through the woods. The men with him looked around warily, fearfully, wondering what kind of being would ever _sing_ in such a dark place as this, but the voice was too fair to trouble him.

"We should go back," one murmured. He was looked up to by most of the other men, and in any other group would have been called second in command… but they didn't really have so much as a first in command. Several other soft murmurs of agreement followed his statement.

The leading Ranger let out a snort. "Think you that orcs make such a noise? Spiders?"

"But what of sorcerers? Elves?"

"Neither are of evil," he protested mildly.

"That does not mean they will not just as gladly imprison us for a time. We should go around, if we must go at all!"

"I told you I intended to go to Rivendell, and that I didn't need any of you to come along if you didn't wish to do so. You are here. If you go farther it will be without disparaging remarks about the elves or wizards, or any other creature of good."

"But the wood grows dark in these times—this you well know!"

"And I know that even today the wood-men travel freely through, as do Thranduil's kin. Why should we—Rangers—be any different?"

The men were properly chastened—they fought orcs, trolls, and wild-men on a regular basis, trying to keep their homelands safe, even if those lands would no longer claim them. Still, within a few minutes of entering the dark wood, they all hesitated, drawing to a halt. "Strider," the boldest called, a faint tremor in his voice he had not before heard.

With a sigh, he paused, looking back at them. The singing had stopped, but the elves were no doubt yet close, even if they could find no sign of them. "Then go the long way around, and I shall see you in Rivendell in time." He walked on, unwilling to go back into the wilds when there was a perfectly fine, elf-inhabited forest right in front of him. Men were his true kin, true enough, but as he had been raised among the elves he did miss them, and their ways. Even to meet with wood-elves for a night of merry feasting and song would be both relief and blessing to his weary heart now.

He heard them hesitate, discuss, but soon enough he had drawn far enough away even his relatively sharp ears could no longer detect them. It didn't bother him. He was often alone… and knew that he often would be, in times to come. All journeys worth making had to be traveled in solitude… in some form of it or another.

Silence would be welcome, an easy way to endure the troubles of his mind without having to remind himself he was, at the same time, responsible for so many others.

On he walked, before long stopping to find the singing had resumed, and he could hear the faint sound of running water. As bathing was as scarce as good cheer in the wild, he made for both sounds, hoping to find a merry group of friendly wood-elves.

It wasn't exactly what he found.

What he found was a single elf, standing knee-deep in the softly swirling water of a lazy river, singing lightly under his breath. Well, he guess it to be male more from the weapons on its back than anything else, since the back was all he could see.

Dressed in metal, leather, and dark cloth, he wasn't at all what Aragorn had expected. Instead of the flowing, loose-fitting and casual appearance of so many elves who called Imladris their home, the elf he had come across was wearing a layer of form-fitting either dark green or brown—hard to tell in the faint light allowed through the boughs above him—leggings and shirt, both mostly hidden under silver-scripted leather guards—on shoulders, from elbow to wrist, and on boots that came up halfway between knee and thigh. As he had approached from the back, he could only guess that the straps he could see which had nothing to do with holding the bow, quiver, or set of long knives in place were instead holding a breastplate firmly against the elf.

That was nearly as much of a surprise as the rest of it. Elves usually only wore armor when going to war… sometimes not even then, and never if it hadn't been crafted for them… though that was a bit more practical than snobby, as their forms were rather different from humans.

Considering his options for a moment, he finally reached out cautiously to tap the elf on the shoulder.

Without missing a breath the elf dodged his touch, latched onto his extended arm, and threw him into the water. An instant later he looked up to find the elf watching him, in a defiant, yet not purely challenging way. It was, above all else, a look of confidence.

Slowly Aragorn got to his feet, holding his hands out at his side. "I did not mean to startle you—"

"No human ever could," the elf replied before Aragorn could think of a polite and respectful enough way to finish the statement. There was no emotion in the voice or eyes facing his.

Swallowing uneasily, Aragorn nodded. "I didn't think so, which was why I was surprised when you seemed unaware of me."

"I knew of your presence even before you entered the wood," was the soft reply. "You left your companions."

"They do not like the wood—they fear both the darkness and the unknown."

"As do many mortals," the elf observed.

"And even some of the eldar," Aragorn returned, unwilling to let it slide past untouched, though it was no doubt not one of the smartest things he could have said to what could well be a hostile elf.

The elf lifted a brow faintly at this, but remained as he was. "Tread lightly from here, human," he stated, his voice dropping almost imperceptibly.

Aragorn, as accustomed to the elves as he was, noticed, and instantly took a step back onto dry ground, ignoring the cold which had made him shiver as he reached for his sword, knowing he had no chance against any elf except in the best of circumstances… when he was well rested and nourished, when the elf wasn't or was poorly trained… and neither fit this situation in the least. Simply the fact the elf hadn't drawn a weapon yet proved he was as confident as Aragorn was about the probable outcome. "I could give you but a few moments," he finally stated, though he left his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The elf's eyes narrowed slightly, silver eyes darting over his form. "You come here… why?"

"Seeking a quicker path to Imladris," Aragorn answered, slowly unsheathing his sword as the elf moved back a slight bit in the water, weight rested on one leg.

"To Imladris?" the elf asked, lifting a brow for a moment as he spoke the elven name.

"Yes," Aragorn agreed. "Long have I been gone this time, and I wish to see my family once more."

"Imladris is no dwelling for men," the elf replied, shifting ever so slightly again, his silver eyes narrowing as he noted Aragorn noticing this.

Silently cursing himself for responding so obviously to every move, Aragorn held his soggy ground, trying to remember every fight he'd ever had with his brothers so he would at least last those few moments he'd promised the elf. So much for running into a band of merry wood-elves. "No," he finally agreed, "but Lord Elrond has long been as a father to me."

A golden brow lifted at that, before the elf appeared to relax. "Well then," he murmured, smiling slightly. "Certainly that makes things easier. Your name?"

Aragorn hesitated, not trusting the relaxed pose any more than he'd trusted the shifting. "Strider."

A sudden coiling in the elf's eyes was all the warning he got—and it was barely enough to bring his sword up to defend against the blow which could have swiftly eviscerated him if the elf had truly wished to kill him… without having a bit of fun, first. As it was, he slid down the bank under the force of it, ending up on his backside in the water, its chill seeping all through his legs and crawling up his back. "_Not_ an elven name," the elf hissed, his eyes colder than the icy water at their feet when he allowed Aragorn to regain his.

"You didn't ask what name they called me," Aragorn countered, trying to avoid another blow and stay on his feet… which didn't work. Once again he found himself in the water, and again the elf allowed him to get back up.

"Why would they call a human anything but a temporary guest?" the elf seemed to have decided he was done toying with him, for he drew his second long knife, and the next blow disarmed him, leaving him no recourse but to try and dodge the coming blow, knowing even if he managed to miss one, another one would follow before he could even think to move again.

"Because Elrond has always felt he has a call to be interested in them—after all, his brother chose humanity!" He called out the last as the blade not pointed at his chest came around, ready to slice through his throat, if it didn't simply take his head off his shoulders.

The blade froze close enough he had heard the soft way it sang through the air. It's side suddenly chilled his throat. Narrowed eyes peered at him from a form that seemed hardly capable of remaining upright in the deeper, stronger section of the river their fight had taken them to. "Name?" the elf asked once more.

Aragorn took a careful breath, again willing himself not to shiver. "Estel."

"Have you any siblings?" the elf asked then, his lips barely moving, no plume of steam apparent in the cooling air, though Aragorn's heavy breathing misted the world around them.

"Not by blood—the twins have been as my brothers… and I met the Lady Arwen but a few years ago."

A golden brow quirked again, the weapons out of sight a moment later. "Another mortal fallen into the trap of elven ladies, I see," he murmured, cordially enough, before stretching his arms over his head as if he'd just awakened from a long and pleasant nap.

Aragorn found his mouth was hanging open and closed it while still trying to recover from the elf's statement. Even Elladan and Elrohir hadn't seemed to notice… yet this elf—an utter stranger to him—had.

A soft laugh escaped the elf in question. "It has been a while since you've been around the elves, hasn't it?"

"Indeed—too long. I have missed their… merriness?"

Again the elf laughed, jumping lightly from the water to the shore. "Under other circumstances, you would have come to the right realm—wood-elves are known for their merry and free ways… but times have been dark, and we journey out less and less often with an eye to possible friends."

It was the solemnity of his tones that made Aragorn study the elf again. From the front this time, he took in the armored elf, finding the elf crooked a brow in amusement and shifted slightly to allow his study. The breastplate gleamed in the fading light, small scars along the smooth surface speaking to long and hard battles in times past, the ridges in it declaring that even for an elf, this one was well accustomed to fighting, his body formed more definitely physically than were most—all elves were lithe, their muscles more wiry than bulky as a human's would be… but this warrior before him was on the bulky side… for an elf, anyway. He was still amazingly thin, a predator with the sinuous strength and ease of grace it would take to spring into action with a deadly accuracy belied by his seemingly too weak form. Noticing some silver leaf designs as decoration where he had anticipated none, Aragorn turned his eyes back to the elf's face, frowning slightly.

The hair was loose, long, silver-blond and perfectly straight, no sign of a fight having taken place mere minutes before. Delicately pointed ears peeked between the strands, which were held slightly back from the face by a thin bit of silver Aragorn had failed to notice before. The band glimmered across the elf's brow, separating hair and skin, two small blue stones resting within the arch before the silver disappeared into the blond hair, broken by a loose bit of hair which fell forward, slashing in front of the elf's right eye.

Those eyes sparkled now with amusement, faint hints of blue mixed with the much more dominate silver.

Recalling the disastrous fight, and the calm, collected way the elf fought was the final bit of evidence. Slowly Aragorn bowed his head.

The elf laughed lightly once more, shaking his head at the show of respect. "Come out of the water, Estel. You're shivering again."

Indeed he was, Aragorn realized, looking down at himself. He clambered up the bank in silence, held a bit in awe of the creature before him. "And now, Prince Legolas?" he asked finally.

Legolas laughed and self-consciously touched the silver band that adorned his forehead. "And now," he murmured, walking deeper into the woods, "we build a fire, so Elladan and Elrohir have no cause to attack me when next I'm sent to Imladris."

Stories about the Prince of Mirkwood filled his head from years past, hearing the telling split into two identical voices from time to time before turning back to but one. He recalled the twins claiming they would have beaten him once in archery, had Glorfindel not walked by and caught their attempts to convince Legolas to shoot with one of their bows 'to even things up' between them. They had spoken of hunting trips, adventures with orcs, dwarves, and even trolls, once… yet they didn't seem to quite understand the prince, saying he was merry enough… but quiet, at the same time, when they could find no reason for him to be so.

As he went through what little else he knew—the Queen had been killed long ago, and Thranduil had withdrawn from the entire world in his grief—Aragorn wondered if maybe he did have quite a reason to be quiet. A touch on his shoulder startled him, making him jump slightly.

The elf behind him jumped away at the same time, a faint wariness in his eyes for a moment before he motioned at the fire before them.

"Oh… thank you," Aragorn hunched next to the fire, wondering where his things had ended up.

A soggy splash a few minutes later told him as his bundle of possessions landed beside him on the ground, icy water oozing out and sliding towards him. His sword clattered down a moment later. He sheathed it before opening his pack with a sigh, setting the things which weren't ruined out to dry in the blessed warmth the fire began to give out as it consumed some more of the wood the elf had provided it with.

He glanced up when that was done to see Legolas standing at the edge of the firelight, gazing at the dark world beyond with hard eyes. There was no sign of moisture below his knees, making Aragorn sigh as he wrung some more water out of his hair and shirt. Their infinite grace was one reason he _didn't_ always enjoy being around elves. It always made him feel so clumsy and cloddish, though he knew, in human standards, he was remarkably light on his feet. "Don't you feel the cold?" he asked a bit sharply.

Legolas turned his head slowly, nothing showing on his face or in his eyes. "No," he stated softly, turning his head back with deliberate coldness.

Aragorn winced. "Sorry. I just…"

"Hate being bested?" Legolas offered a moment later, a faint touch of his silvery laughter threading through the tones.

"No… well, not by elves, because I know I would rarely stand a chance… I just get annoyed sometimes…"

"That you are not one of us," Legolas murmured, turning back as Aragorn stared at him in shock. Silvery eyes studied his face for an instant before he resumed watch as if he hadn't just pierced a mortal's soul with an insight that mortal hadn't even considered before… though Aragorn knew it was true in the same instant it was said.

He often felt he should have been an elf, would gladly have been told he was half-elven and had the choice of becoming an elf rather than what he had recently been told—that he was not only human, but that he would have to spend the rest of his life among them, whether he wanted to or not. He hadn't let himself dwell on that, because it still sat uneasily on his shoulders. How could he be a king of men, when he really preferred being around elves?

"Take some rest, Estel," Legolas murmured, looking still in the direction he ever had. "There is nothing to fear for you now. Not here."

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn slowly laid back, knowing that he could trust Legolas… just a little uncertain he would rather sleep than remain awake with the elf. The choice was taken from his hands a short while later, the last thing he saw for many hours being the tilted glance from silver eyes before the elven prince slipped soundlessly into the wood.

That image brought him awake with a start as the fire died to nothingness, earning him an amused glance from the elf across from him. "A… nightmare?" the elf asked, tilting his head as he spoke the unfamiliar term.

Aragorn shook his head. "No. You left."

"Yes," Legolas agreed, as if it was far from out of the ordinary. "You can travel through these woods with greater speed and safety if you are neither alone nor on foot."

It was only then that Aragorn noticed the two horses waiting patiently. Both were unhindered, wearing nothing that would declare them beasts of burden, as to do so was not the elven way. He also noted the prince was no longer dressed quite as he had been. The dark brown or green cloth had been replaced with either a silver or blue, and a long cloak rested beneath the weapons he yet wore. There was a small pack beside him, and another rested beside Aragorn. "You offer yourself as company?"

Legolas lifted a brow. "I suppose you could see it that way," he allowed after a moment.

Aragorn almost agreed with his brothers that there was something very different about this elf… but didn't, speaking without really thinking, instead. "How do you see it?"

"I see that my father has a message to go to Imladris, and as you head there, it would be in the best interest of the Wood for you to reach the mountains in safety."

Well, so much for a friendly reason. No wonder the prince was willing to let him think he was along as a companion. "Are there many like you here?"

"Like me?" Legolas asked, a faint frown touching his brow for an instant.

"High elves."

A golden brow quirked. "What would make you believe I am a high elf?"

"For one thing, your father is the king," Aragorn murmured dryly. "For another, I have met wood-elves before, and you are not one. There is too much solemnity, too much ancient knowledge in your eyes for that."

The brow lifted again, the closest to surprise Aragorn would guess the prince would allow any to see. "No," he stated finally. "There are no others." He shifted his weight slightly, easing a bit back from his crouch so he was closer to being on his feet, indicating an impatience with remaining where they were.

Aragorn considered that for a while. "Well… in rather opposite ways, I suppose we're rather alike," he murmured, getting to his feet. His things had already been bundled up, so he added the small pack the prince had laid aside for him and moved to the horse that had remained still when he got up. After mounting the tan horse, he turned to see Legolas watching him with an odd sort of fascination.

The reddish-brown horse nudged the elf's shoulder, and a long-fingered hand lifted absently to rub the gracefully arching neck. Slowly the elf smiled, a small amount of warmth coming into the wintery eyes. "Perhaps we are," he agreed quietly, mounting his horse with typical elven speed and grace.

There was little conversation from there to Imladris, though Legolas always stopped when Aragorn would have called the Rangers to pause—though he knew Legolas wasn't possibly tired. He found no need, no fear to keep him awake in the elf's company, knowing the warrior prince could handle most anything, and wouldn't be against waking him or warning him if he doubted his own abilities for but an instant. In the same manner, when the prince stopped his horse without a word, his eyes scanning the woods quickly, Aragorn paused as well, though it felt rather foolish to pause so close to Imladris that he could hear the singing of the elves.

The thought vanished as Legolas pulled out one of his long knives, throwing it into a tree without so much as an instant's hesitation. He drew his sword as Legolas remained still, not bothering with his other knife or his bow.

"Trying to kill us, Legolas?" a familiar voice asked, a dark head peeking out at them from the lower branches of a tree to the left of the one Legolas had pinpointed.

"No," he answered calmly. "If I had intended to kill you, I would have thrown it so the point—rather than the handle—would strike."

"Thank the Valar for your aim," another voice muttered, before a second, identically dark-haired elf dropped from the branches. He tossed the knife back to Legolas, before resting his palm over his chest, wincing slightly.

"I've told you before not to try and entrap me," Legolas responded, sheathing the blade.

"We were just on the look-out," Elladan protested.

Legolas crooked a brow at him. "Yes—to trick or trap whoever came along, as long as you deemed you could get away with it. Know now—I will not allow it." His voice had chilled noticeably, his eyes hardening once more. The slight easing in him Aragorn had noted as they traveled was gone, leaving an icy warrior behind.

The twins looked at him uncomfortably, but nodded, bowing their heads slightly to him, a show he diminished by returning it to them. The twins latched onto them then, pulling them from their horses to walk with them into the valley, sending their horses off with one of the other elves who had been singing nearby, who was by then laughing at the twins for having been so easily caught by one who hadn't been around in a few centuries.

Just before Aragorn was led away, his foster-father came out, greeting Legolas by bowing his head. "How is your father?"

"Much as he has been since the kingdom has been his alone to rule," Legolas answered, a slight rigidity stiffening his spine.

"Odd elf, isn't he?" Elrohir asked as he pulled Aragorn on.

"Odd?" he asked. "I suppose so. After all, he is a high-elf among wood-elves, serious to their merry, burdened to care-free. A warrior where warriors are considered unnecessary unless an attack occurs, a prince where a king holds absolute authority but uses it for his own ends. At an age younger than your own, he finds himself with duties that would weary father—yet he accepts it without protest. Yes, I suppose that is odd."

He missed the sharp, startled silver-eyed look given to him by a prince, though he saw the looks his brothers gave him.

Years later, he met the prince again, and was teased in Legolas's oddly solemn way about his true name, before they wound up traveling together once more, for a short time.

"What is it?" Legolas asked him quietly, turning his head from his typical stare into the world beyond their fire.

"No one knows, do they?"

"Knows what?" he asked, lifting a brow.

"You."

Legolas blinked, his hands tightening slightly where they rested on his crossed arms. After a long moment he tilted his head up to the stars. "I suppose not," he admitted finally. In Mirkwood he was a prince, the only child of a distant and powerful king. In Imladris he stood for all of Mirkwood… and anywhere else, he was an elf, someone to be held in awe and even fear, a symbol for an entire race. "Any more than you are known," he countered.

Aragorn couldn't help but smile wryly at that even as he unconsciously drew his blanket closer against the cold. The elves of Imladris no longer understood him entirely, because he had slowly grown comfortable among humans… and humans still couldn't grasp the part of him that would always remain with the elves. Some tried to know him, at least, and he had a small number he could call friends. "Yet it is worse for you, my friend."

Legolas's breath actually paused in his throat, escaping him in a long plume as he finally sighed. "Thank you, Aragorn," he murmured softly. "Even though it may never be truly true… thank you."

With a shake of his head, the Ranger leaned back, tugging his blanket and cloak a bit more firmly around himself. "Perhaps it will change when you go to the Undying Lands."

"The desire is yet hidden in my heart," Legolas murmured softly, shaking his head. "A legacy from my mother I must admit to enjoying… though it seems likely the call shall be relentless once it awakens."

"So then you can cross."

"Can I?" he asked, an odd savageness in his voice and the sharp way he turned to pin Aragorn with a daggered look. "You seem to realize what your _brothers_ don't—that I have, in effect, been ruling the kingdom, save when my father regains an interest in his title. If it were merely me—if there was no one else to consider… then I would, no doubt, have gone to the shores long ago, to see if the desire would take me then. It will not change in a hundred years—nor a thousand. My father hangs between life and oblivion, held here only by the odd pleasure he finds in the treasure that used to so please my mother… and I have to remain to be their strength when his wanes."

"Even they may cross in time," Aragorn offered uncomfortably. It was odd—at first the prince's control over his emotions had seemed abnormally cold, but he had grown so used to it that this fire seemed to scorch him inside out and outside in.

"May… but they are wood-elves. This is their home." The tall elf sighed, his head dropping down so his chin rested upon his chest. "Take some rest, Elessar. Soon you shall not have a watcher in the night."

"They call you back already?"

A humorless laugh split the night. "They would never have me leave," he answered grimly.

Aragorn found sleep hard, but harder after that night, for Legolas was indeed called back to his home, his father apparently fallen on hard times yet again.

A few years later, he learned there had been a war, and started to travel to Mirkwood for tidings of his overburdened friend when Mithrandir instead asked for his assistance in a difficult and smelly business. Though the wizard often traveled to the woodland realm, Aragorn never found a moment in which to do so, spending his time when it was his to spend, with Arwen, his brothers, or his kin.

He was glad enough to see the prince ride into the valley one day, a faint sparkle in his silvery-blue eyes as he spotted Aragorn. The smile faded before it reached his lips, a faint frown touching his brow before his usual calm mask fell into place. "Are you well?"

Aragorn offered the elf a ghostly smile, feeling very weary from his journeys even in that restful moment. "I am mortal, Legolas, and not as young as I once was. The world is changing… and I must find my place in it before long."

Legolas looked at him for a long moment, and then slowly nodded. "As must we all."

During the council, Aragorn watched with a combination of annoyance and amusement as Legolas played the part of unknowing messenger, relaying the information he had arrived with as if it wasn't he, himself, who was probably behind a message being sent in the first place.

The act fell away when they came to finding who would go to Mordor to destroy the ring. Legolas's eyes were darker than usual, even as Aragorn pledged his sword and life to the cause.

He thought nothing of that until he found out later that Legolas was going to represent elves. When he found the elf—without his customary armor, as it was not fitting to come as a messenger so in times of peace, which had been declared between his realm and the humans around it in recent years past—he pulled him aside.

"What are you doing? Mirkwood needs you!"

"As Gondor needs you?" Legolas asked, lifting a brow. "The world needs help, Strider," he murmured, lowering his voice as the heavier steps of a human sounded nearby. "It will not matter if I die on this quest if the quest fails—what could I do in Mirkwood in such an event? If we should be successful at the cost of my life—then who am I to worry? Mirkwood would be well served."

"Until the darkness had fallen. Then what?"

"Then they shall either remain, or go west. My father returns enough to rule with a competent hand, thanks—oddly enough—to a war. I am not needed there so desperately."

"Are you not?" Aragorn asked, sensing there was something not yet said.

"Others need my skills now," the prince agreed, his eyes blank though neither cold nor hard as he studied Aragorn.

The man sighed and pinched his fingers together over the bridge of his nose. "As if I could stop you," he grumbled.

"Why would you wish to do so?" Legolas countered, tilting his head slightly to the side. "An elf is bound to come—more likely than a dwarf or hobbit, though those races are also represented. Of the elves, I am least likely to fight with the dwarf, and one of the most skilled in the arts that shall be found useful."

Aragorn sighed and shook his head. "You have already had a life made hard by things beyond you. You pretend it is not so—show the rest of the world a laughing front, carefree and bright—but I have seen the truth from time to time, and you no longer insult me by pretending I am imagining things. I would rather you not lose your life to protect that you have never been given a chance to enjoy."

The blankness of Legolas's silver eyes was replaced by an enigmatic look Aragorn couldn't decipher. "You understand many things, Elessar," he murmured quietly, "but there are some you don't yet know." With that, the elf walked away and made ready for the journey, after sending a message to his father which would arrive just in time that any reply would be too late to reach him.

Aragorn rolled his eyes as Gimli grumbled about the idiocy of the elf to have done it that way, his fingers itching to shake him and explain that in this way the king couldn't order Legolas to return home.

As it was, he found himself glad that at least he knew the elf that was along, for he had never really gotten over his enjoyment of elves, though the elves more and more began to look at humans either with pity or disgust. Still, he had trouble with keeping quiet as Legolas again slipped into typical wood-elf mode, laughing at the dwarf and seeming merry to all… except those who knew him well enough to know that unless the slight hint of blue in his eyes could be seen, he wasn't anywhere near happy.

The quest continued on and on, it seemed, until all hope had failed them. How could he be a king among men, bring light to the darkness, when he couldn't even find a glimmer of it for himself?

"Aragorn," Legolas murmured. "They are frightened. I can see it in their eyes."

So could he, but he tried to soothe the elf, feeling foolish for even trying as Legolas's eyes flashed in anger.

"They are going to die!"

"Then I shall die as one of them!" he snapped back, storming from the room. The fire brought by anger the elf had initiated dwindled, until he looked around at these people, and understood—for the first time—that as long as there was life, there was hope.

Legolas stepped to his side when he went to the wall to search the night, his silver eyes distant, searching for the night. "We have a few hours yet. Their torches are but faded hints."

Aragorn stared at him in shock, wondering what had happened to the angry elf he had only twice known… until he saw a faint blue sparkle in his friend's eyes. Closing his own, he almost smiled. "Thank you, Legolas."

The elf inclined his head slightly, the hint of humor escaping him as he studied the approaching masses once more. He sighed. "It shall be a long night," he murmured quietly.

Looking at him, Aragorn wondered how he had ever thought that Legolas would admit despair in such a situation. He doubted in truth if Legolas would waver if he were alone in this battle, instead of the sole representative of his race. The being before him, though youthful in appearance, had long lived a demanding life, which had shaped him to be stoic, efficient, as quick as lightning as even more deadly, and often times cold. He would never admit defeat against such darkness as approached them, even in his last breath, and he could take comfort in that.

Aragorn took a deep breath. "Again you make me wish your blood in me was stronger," he murmured.

"Nay, Aragorn," Legolas denied, his eyes hardening at something he saw. "For then this night would send such a youth to his knees in terror. Immortal lives when lost are always cut far too short—many of those lost tonight shall be shortened but a handful of seasons, and they have no doubt long since made their peace with that. It is the children who become adults tonight…" he trailed off. "They shall be somewhat as we are, my friend, if they live."

Aragorn swallowed, and slowly nodded. They would have grow up too early in such a way that only others who had endured a similar fate could ever begin to understand the burden such really was. "There are worse fates," he murmured.

Silver eyes met his. "Yes. Few," he tilted his head slightly to the side, "but worse."

"Many would say you are an incredible being."

"Many," Legolas agreed, "but you were right in those years past—no one truly knows me. I shall leave behind tales of my participation in wars, of my title, perhaps… but what of friends? A few mortals who chose to take a suicidal mission in the perhaps vain thought they could save the world?" He smiled bitterly, his eyes growing even more distant. "I have thought on her words, Aragorn. I welcome them—whether death or such a change I can escape this endless cycle I am held in."

Aragorn bowed his head, but slowly nodded. "It has always been worse for you, than for me…"

"Yet you saw what the others did not."

"And you have always seen right through me, from the first day." Aragorn sighed, looking out at the approaching darkness, where he could see the faintest glimmer of light from time to time. "And no doubt will to my last."

Legolas sighed, and for the first time Aragorn saw fear in the elf's eyes.

He placed his hand on the elf's shoulder, tightening his hold for an instant as the elf straightened, starting to stiffen before relaxing. "In time," he promised.

Legolas smiled faintly, sorrow in his eyes rather too visibly. "Perhaps," he agreed. "If I live through this war, and am able to go to the Undying Lands… but as long as I am able, it shall not be while you yet live."

"And what of Gimli?" Aragorn asked, a bit amused to hear the dwarf boasting somewhere with some of the soldiers of his own height.

"Ah, the dwarf," Legolas murmured, the faintest smile touching his lips.

"A friend there, as well? Perhaps things shall grow better for you."

"A mortal friend will die, no matter of what race," Legolas reminded him quietly, before his eyes lost some of their icy hardness. "I suppose I can hope."

"Then we have learned something from each other?" Aragorn asked, smiling quietly.

Legolas actually laughed at that, the first true laugh Aragorn had ever known, though it was still tinged with everything which burdened his friend. "I suppose we have, Estel," he agreed. Then his eyes fell on the approaching masses, and he shook his head. "We have some cleaning to do first. The world must be purged of this darkness, if it is to hold the light we carry."

Aragorn smiled, bowing his head slightly to his friend before moving away for some last minute discussion with the king.

In years to come, no doubt, they would laugh out loud at themselves for discussing such things when they were facing almost certain death, but now it seemed normal for them to wish their friend be well without them, should the other find himself once again alone in a world that could never really understand the burden they had been given at birth, and would probably—despite their half-hearted wishes to the contrary—always carry, always alone… for though there could be those to call friend, to laugh with and share moments, no one could ever truly understand, ever really know them.

Not even themselves.


End file.
